SHANNA’S SLIPPERED FEET were a blur flitting down the curving stairs, barely seeming to touch the steps. She was like a young girl again, fretful of her tardiness, flushed and breathless and, in her haste, heedless of the display of trim and shapely ankles that flashed beneath her lifted skirts. Hergus had barely contained her curls with a ribbon before the full realization of time struck Shanna. If there was any one thing that consistently roused her father’s ire, it was the needless delay of his meal.
Jason stood tall and erect at his post beside the front portal. He seemed to study the far wall, an intense frown pulling his dark face into heavy folds. He gave no notice to Shanna in her immodest haste. As in the days of her youth, Shanna felt his reproof and halting, dropped her skirts and smoothed her teal blue gown, then lifting her head proudly, continued down with a poised aloofness that drew his regard and won a smile of approval from the black man. He stiffly bowed.
“You look mighty fetching this evening, madam.”
She gave a gracious nod. “Thank you, Jason.”
From the drawing room her father’s voice boomed out. “Berta! Go see what’s keeping that girl! ’Tis half past the dinner hour.”
Shanna eased somewhat as there was still a touch of good humor in his tone. She moved to the door and took a deep breath, feeling much like Daniel before the lion’s den. But if Milly had found a chance to tell her father, Shanna reasoned, by now she would have been facing a raging snarl. Summoning an outwardly serene smile, she entered the room and paused as the men rose to their feet Pitney was already standing beside her father, and they turned together, each with his own choice of libation in his hand.
“Gentlemen, do be seated,” Shanna begged softly as her gaze traveled about the room.
Ruark had garbed himself handsomely in his royal blue finery, and his lithe, powerful grace made the long, gangling form of Sir Gaylord seem much like an uncoordinated giraffe as they stepped forward simultaneously. Ralston gave her a brief nod which sufficed for an acknowledgement of her presence.
“I am sorry I’m late, papa,” Shanna murmured sweetly. “I didn’t realize the time.”
Trahern brushed aside his daughter’s apology. In the face of her almost girlish radiance, he could do naught but consider that there was, after all, no harm done.
“I am sure the gentlemen will regard the wait well worthwhile, my dear. We were just discussing the voyage to the colonies.”
“Is it much like England?” Shanna charmingly presented the question to Ruark. “I suppose ’twill be cold.”
“Cold? Aye, madam,” Ruark smiled and could not suppress the glow that came into his eyes as he beheld her beauty. “But I think not entirely like England.”
“Gracious, no!” Gaylord piped in. He indulged himself with a bit of snuff, taking it from the back of his hand, and delicately applied a monogrammed handkerchief to his pale nostril. His blue-gray eyes watered as he sniffed. “A savage land, hardly fit for a lady. Crude forts, untamed wilderness. Heathens, the lot of them there. I dare say, we shall all be in constant danger.”
Ruark arched a dubious brow toward the man. “You seem an authority, sir. Have you ever been there?”
Gaylord bent a cold, withering glare upon the bondsman. “Did I hear you speak?” The inflection in his voice carried a tone of amazement, as if he could not believe he had been addressed by a common slave.
Ruark managed to subdue his mockery and with feigned chagrin replied, “I really don’t know what made me do that.”
Gaylord tossed his head, missing the twist of sarcasm in Ruark’s tone. “Be more mindful of it then. ‘Tis odious enough having to share the same table with a bondslave without being interrupted by such.” Feeling his power over the man, Gaylord sneered. “And bear it in mind, my good fellow, I think there is much of the knave in you. I do not believe you innocent of the pirate’s scheme to spirit away Squire Trahern’s treasures, no matter the rumor, and if I were he, I’d keep a wary eye on you while you’re in this manor. Mayhap you now seek a more valuable reward.” His glance dipped only slightly so as only Ruark noticed it was directed toward Shanna. “A rogue will stop at nothing to gain gold for his purse.”
Ruark stiffened at the slur, and his eyes hardened as he met Gaylord’s taunting stare. Ralston smirked as he saw the darkening of Ruark’s brow and could not ignore the opportunity. He joined the two. His eyes swept the younger man contemptuously as he directed his remark to Gaylord.
“’Tis most unseemly that a mere bondslave should question an honorable knight’s knowledge.”
Gaylord drew himself up to his full height and struck an arrogant pose as he realized the truth of Ralston’s thinly veiled suggestion.
Over her shoulder, Shanna caught her father’s attention and inclined her head toward Ralston with a slight frown. His nod was immediately forthcoming.
“Mister Ralston,” Trahern called. “Might I have a word with you?”
Ralston scowled and reluctantly left the two. He had just begun to enjoy himself, and this was a game he loved to play. Still, he could not disobey his employer. As he drew near, Orlan Trahern lowered the glass he sipped from and frowned in mild reproach.
“Mister Ruark is a guest in my household.” His voice was low so that only Pitney could hear. “I must see to the peace and tranquility of my home. I insist that you, being only a paid servant yourself, treat my guests with equity.”
Ralston reddened and grew rigid with indignation. “Sir? Do you fault me in front of others?”
“Nay, Mister Ralston.” Trahern’s smile bore little humor. “I only remind you of your station. Mister Ruark has proven his worth. Do not disprove yours.”
Ralston suppressed an urge to reply in heat. He had grown accustomed to the rich apartment he maintained in the village and was well aware of the reaches of Trahern’s wealth and power but considered the man would hardly miss a few hundred pounds here and there, and, thus, in his years with the squire, Ralston had laid away a goodly sum for himself; his accounts would not bear any close scrutiny. He also knew that Trahern would, with his commoner’s petty vengeance, seek punishment if the shortages were found out.
With the fine skill of an experienced diplomat, Shanna had taken it upon herself to allay further confrontation between Ruark and Sir Billingsham. Placing herself between the two men and bestowing a warm smile to Ruark, she presented her back to him and spoke directly to Sir Gaylord.
“Kind sir.” Her pitying eyes gave her words the taste of purest honey. “’Tis indeed a shame we are so far from London and you can find none of your peers to lend good rhetoric to the conversation. It must be a pain to you to hear the common and mundane discourses of earthly things so prevalent out here on the—frontier.”
The knight heard only the soft warmth of her voice and was captivated by the distraught beauty of the visage before him. He began to feel as if he had harmed her in some way as she continued.
“I, too, have heard the lofty ideals vividly expressed in the court and know the loneliness you find in your lordly pursuits. You must remember, though, that all, even my father and myself, are of common extraction here and temper your judgments with mercy. Why,”—Shanna laughed as if incredulous at her thought—“you would not ban my good sire and myself from your company, would you?”
Sir Gaylord was equally incredulous. “Of course not, my dear lady. Your father is governor here and you, as his daughter, are most”—he sighed longingly—“attractive.”
“Good.” Shanna tapped his arm with her fan and leaned close, saying confidentially, “I can say of my own knowledge that Mister Ruark was forcefully taken from this island against his will. I beg you to understand why I must treat him with some deference,” she looked aside to Ruark and smiled wickedly.
The knight could only mumble his agreement, though he still struggled with her reasoning.
“You are so kind, sir.” She curtsied gracefully and gave her hand to Ruark. “Let us see to our dinner, then.”
Shanna looked back over her shoulder toward her father. “Papa, are you ready to eat?”
“Most certainly!”
Trahern chuckled deep in his chest and, realizing he had just witnessed a setdown in the softest feminine way, could almost feel pity for the blundering numbers who had fallen in her wake. With a strange sense of pride, he watched the poised deliberation of his daughter as she walked beside the bondsman. They made a splendid pair, the two of them. And what fine children she would bear him if they—
“Bah! Madness!” Trahern shook his head to shed the thoughts. “I have cast the die too well. She would never deign to wed a bondsman.”
Shanna slipped easily into the slow, considered movements which gave her an air of cool aloofness. Her hand rested lightly on Ruark’s arm, and she smiled into those gleaming amber eyes. The two of them led the procession into the dining room where Milan had begun to chafe at the delay, seeing only the ruin of delicate flavors as the cook tried to keep the dishes warm. At Shanna’s entry the small man’s face suddenly beamed, and he clapped his hands together as a signal for the young boys to bring the food. At last dinner was to be served.
“Sit here, Mister Ruark,” Shanna directed, indicating the chair near her own which was placed at the end.
Ralston left open the place opposite the bondsman for Sir Gaylord and took a seat across from Pitney, nearer Trahern. If there was trouble to be brewed, he was the master brewer, and he would see this mixture to its best fermentation.
The conversation at the beginning of the meal was somewhat stilted. Gaylord could only gaze at Shanna, and when her attention was diverted, he allowed his eyes to dip appreciatively to her breasts where the stiff bodice pressed the swelling curves into a most tempting display. Annoyed by the knight’s lustful perusal, Ruark had to hold tight rein on his own manners. Ralston, unusually verbose, directed his words to the squire.
“I’ve noted that the Good Hound has been brought in to clean her hull. Do you intend, squire, to take the schooner along to the colonies, or do you plan to use her here for trade around the islands?”
Trahern paused in his eating and gestured to Ruark. “Ask the lad there. It belongs to him.”
Ralston and Gaylord both turned to stare aghast toward Ruark, who casually stated the situation.
“Gentlemen, it is permissible by English law for a bondsman to own property. I gained the schooner in a fair battle, as Madam Beauchamp will attest.”
“This is preposterous!” Gaylord declared. It nettled him sorely that a slave should have a vessel while he, a titled gentleman, was still trying to gain financing for a shipyard.
“However so,” Ruark grinned, “the schooner is mine and shall remain mine unless I choose to give it up for my freedom. But then, I think ’twould take me longer to earn the price of a ship than to pay my indebtedness. The Tempest will be loaned to the squire for the voyage in return for the price of seeing her made fit A fair enough exchange as we both see it”
“The Tempest?” Ralston queried arrogantly.
“Aye, I’ve renamed it,” Ruark replied leisurely. “Of late I’ve come to enjoy storms as they seem to bring me naught but good, and I deemed it only fitting.”
“My daughter has an aversion to them,” Trahern commented absently, missing the spreading color that had risen on Shanna’s face with Ruark’s statement “No cause as I could see, but it started when she was a little thing.”
“Perhaps I’m outgrowing that, papa,” Shanna returned softly, not daring to meet her husband’s gaze. “After all, it was a storm which enabled us to escape the pirates.”
Her father accepted this with a mouthful of lobster then swallowing, muttered, “Good. ’Tis time. You’ll be having children of your own someday. Wouldn’t do for you to put that fear in them.”
“No, papa,” Shanna agreed meekly.
“And what of the pirate’s treasure on the schooner?” Ralston sneered. “Does that belong to Mister Ruark also?”
“It did,” Trahern stated, raising his eyes to his man. “But all that which was not mine he gave to Mister Gaitlier and Mistress Dora for the years they spent in service to the pirates.”
The agent’s eyebrows raised in surprise. “Generous of the man, considering he could have bought his freedom.”
Ruark ignored his tone of derision. “By right it was theirs, and I saw it as fair payment from the pirates.”
Gaylord held his silence. He could not understand giving even a small wealth away. Ralston dismissed the subject. He knew such foolish deeds would tend to endear the lady more to the bondsman—and perhaps that was Mister Ruark’s ploy, Ralston mused.
“Madam,” Ralston addressed Shanna directly. “Are you aware Sir Gaylord’s father is a lord and magistrate of the English courts?” He cast a glance awry to Trahern to see if the man was listening and grew piqued that the squire should appear disinterested in the conversation and, instead, savor his favorite dish.
“Indeed?” Shanna presented an inquisitive gaze to the man on her left. “Lord Billingsham? I never heard his name mentioned while I was in London. Has he been a magistrate long?”
Gaylord daintily dabbed the corners of his mouth with a napkin before looking at her earnestly. “I can think of no cause, madam, that might have presented such a fair lady as yourself before him. He judges evil men, murderers, thieves, miscreants of all kinds, and you are far too delicate a flower to be found where those would roam. He has sent many a scoundrel to Tyburn’s triple tree, and for the sake of caution he has elected to be known to those rogues only as Lord Harry.”
Ralston watched Ruark closely, expecting some reaction from him, as he guessed it may have been more than coincidence. His target only met his gaze for a moment, shrugged casually, and continued with his meal.
Pitney was giving careful attention to his food, and Shanna was as intently studying her own. She remembered too well when Mister Hicks spoke of Lord Harry and his secret handling of Ruark’s hanging orders and wondered what game Ralston played.
Only one as familiar with Ruark Beauchamp as Shanna would have noticed his sudden preoccupation with the meal and the gradual hardening of his eyes. His nostrils flared slightly each time the hated name was mentioned, but otherwise he executed well his role of bondsman, and it seemed as if this exchange were simply over his head.
With very great care Shanna questioned, smiling gently at Gaylord, “Lord Harry? ’eTwould seem I’ve heard that name before.” Her brows drew into a puzzled frown. “But for the life of me I can’t remember—”
Pitney’s comment was grunted. “I’ve heard of him. Some called him Hanging Harry. Got that with his liberal use of the triple tree.”
Gaylord was offended. “A malicious rumor!”
Shanna seemed bemused. “I’ve often wondered how a man must feel after he has sentenced another to be hanged for some offense. I’m sure your father sent only the well-deserving to their end, but it crosses my mind what a terrible burden it must have placed upon him. Had you knowledge of his affairs? I suppose he spoke often of them.”
“My father’s affairs were much beyond me, madam. I gave them no heed.”
Shanna brightened. “Oh? What a pity.”
They adjourned again to the drawing room after dinner, and there Shanna was beset by Gaylord’s close presence on the settee beside her. Over her fan she watched Ruark light his pipe by the French doors and, meeting his eyes, caught the almost imperceptible inclination of his head toward the portico. Fanning herself, she rose and complained demurely.
“’Tis a bit stuffy in here, papa. If you’ve no objections, I’ll take a stroll along the porch.”
Glancing over his shoulder, Trahern nodded his approval, and Ruark was quick to offer.
“Madam, since the pirate’s raid ’tis not safe for a lady to go about unescorted. I beg—”
“You’re quite right,” Gaylord interrupted and, to Shanna’s consternation, took her arm. “Please allow me, madam.”
Gaylord had turned the tables deftly, and this time Ruark was left standing while the other man smugly stepped past him with Shanna. As the knight closed the doors behind them, he sneered in the bondsman’s face.
Pitney’s huge arm halted Ruark before he could lay a hand on the latch, and he was shoved gently backward. Ruark was not in the mood for foolery. The muscles in his lean jaw flexed tensely as he lifted his gaze to find a gentle smile on the older man’s face.
“Easy, lad,” Pitney rasped in a low tone. “If there comes a need, I will see to it.”
His gray eyes flicked toward Trahern in a silent warning, and Ruark glanced behind him to see the squire turn away from the cupboard with a glass of rum and draw out his pocket watch. The man considered it a moment before looking at Pitney.
“Five minutes?” He left the comment hanging, and Pitney drew out his own timepiece.
“Less, I’d say, knowing the eager knight.”
“Bitters to an ale?” Trahern wagered.
“Aye,” Pitney answered and tucked away the pocket watch as he considered Ruark.
“You have not seen Shanna at her best.” He gave a nod toward the French doors. “Better men than he have tried. If you must fret, have a pity for Sir Gay.”
The room grew quiet, and only Ruark and Ralston showed emotions. Ruark was uneasy, while Ralston smirked in good satisfaction. Then suddenly from the porch a low enraged shriek came from Shanna. Ruark jumped, and Ralston lowered his glass in wonderment. In a hair’s space it was following by a ringing slap, the beginning of a curse growled by Gaylord, followed by a shout—that, too, from the knight—terminated in a loud grunt.
Pitney consulted his watch and said to Trahern, “Ale!”
All of them including Ralston started for the door at once, but before any could touch it, the portal was flung open, and Shanna flounched into the room, holding the torn bodice of her gown shut with one hand while she flexed the other as if it pained her. Her beautiful face was aflame beneath her wildly mussed tresses.
Trahern halted his daughter with a hand on her arm, and his eyes carefully searched her for some sign of mistreatment. “Is all well with you, Shanna child?”
“Aye, papa,” she replied brightly. “Better than you can guess, but I fear our lordly guest has taken to adorning the shrubs with his manly form.”
Trahern stepped past her as Ruark doffed his coat and laid it over his wife’s shoulders. Shanna gazed at him softly as he took her hand to examine it.
“Shall I avenge you, milady?” he questioned in a low voice without raising his eyes.
“Nay, my Captain Pirate Ruark,” she murmured. “Poor fellow, he’s had his just reward. Look yonder.”
She swept the injured hand toward the doors as her father and Pitney pushed them open. Trahern seemed to choke on something as the dim light spilled onto the porch to illuminate the lanky shape of Sir Billingsham as he struggled to pull himself over the railing that bordered the walkway. Shreds of leaves and broken twigs clung to him, protruding from his rose-colored coat in random array. The knight set his feet on the porch and, unconscious of those who stared, paused to pluck the greenery from himself. He had succeeded only to a slight degree when he raised his head to find three of the four men who watched smiling broadly at him, while the fourth gaped in stunned astonishment.
Sir Gaylord was equal to the occasion. Lifting his jowly chin, he stared back at them with a haughty gaze and strode loftily past them as they made way for him, ignoring Shanna completely. Still in all, his bearing lacked something, for his gait had an odd half-step quality caused, no doubt, by his missing shoe.
Tugging the oversize coat about her, Shanna gave a small curtsy. “Good evening, gentlemen,” she said and swept out of the room, turning her hand as if it still ached.
Trahern regarded his empty glass for a moment before he sighed almost sadly and went to pour two tall ales, handing one to Pitney. Ralston helped himself to a short brandy and tossed it off before he, half embarrassed, excused himself and left. Trahern poured a third ale and offered it to Ruark.
“Ah, gentlemen,” the portly man chuckled after a long pull at his own glass. “I do not know what I shall do for excitement when the lass is gone.” His chuckle gave way to rolling mirth, which infected the other two and left him gasping in his chair.
“I think I will retire. I am getting too old for all of this.”
He left the room to them and as he went down the hall an occasional chuckle drifted back. Pitney refilled their glasses and nodded his head toward the door.
“A breath of fresh air, Mister Ruark?”
They strolled through the open doors and passed on down the wide veranda and admired the bright full moon, while John Ruark offered his large companion some tobacco from his pouch. To his surprise the man produced a well-browned clay pipe from his pocket and after a first puff of smoke nodded his appreciative thanks.
“Took the habit when I sailed on one of Orlan’s ships,” he murmured. “Hard to get good tobacco ’way out here. But this is good. Aye, this is good.”
They walked on for a space in silence, leaving a fragrant trail of smoke behind them. They had almost returned to the drawing room doors when Pitney paused to knock the dottle from his pipe bowl.
“A pity,” the huge man commented as he tapped the pipe against his heel.
Ruark gave him a questioning look.
“A pity your brother, Captain Beauchamp, could not sail with us.”
Ruark’s face went blank as he sought for some denial.
“My brother?” was all he could manage, for anything more would have been a lie, bold and open.
“Aye,” Pitney returned, watching him closely in the meager light. He pointed at Ruark’s chest with the stem of his pipe. “And sometimes it tickles me mind that there is even more to Ruark Beauchamp than John Ruark lets on.”
Tucking the pipe in his pocket, Pitney went into the house, and when Ruark entered a few moments later, the room was empty.
The hour was late, and the moon was a swollen red ball low on the horizon. It seemed to squat there with ominous deliberation and gave no clue that it would become the pure silver goddess that fled across the sky and lent her name to stricken lovers. The streets were otherwise dark in the village, and Milly Hawkins shuddered as she strolled again by the appointed meeting place to find it still empty. Fretfully she paused and with a worried gaze swept the cobbled street in both directions. The skin on the back of her neck began to crawl, and her spine tingled coldly. She had the distinct feeling she was being watched. She peered into every nook and cranny but saw nothing. Then she gasped in fear as a tall shadow detached itself from a deeper one and came toward her. Her hands trembled to her mouth, and she stared hard for a moment before sagging in relief.
“Oh, ’tis you, gov’na,” she giggled. “You gave me quite a start. Aye, ’at ye did. Ye’re late.”
The man shrugged and offered no explanation. He wore a full black cape which hid his stature, with a high collar pulled up close beneath a tricorn drawn down to hide his features in the darkness. His riding boots were of soft black leather, as were the gloves which covered his hands, and he carried a quirt as if he had just left a horse. As he drew nearer, Milly gave him no pause.
“Well, gov’na, ’ave I got news fer ye. We got to ’ave an understandin’ soon. ‘At Mister Ruark ain’ no good ter me at all like ye said he’d be. ‘E’s already got him a missus an’ ye’d never guess who. Miz Shanna Beauchamp, ’ats who. Only she ain’ no widow no more. She’s Miz John Ruark, now. An’ the fun of it is, the high lady told me ’erself.”
Milly paused to savor her news.
“Why, she ain’ as good as me, beddin’ a bondsman. Ain’t got no taste atall. She’s kept it a fair secret, though.” The girl chewed at a fingernail for a moment, and her eyes took on a gleeful gleam. “Comes ter mind, ’er pa don’t know, either. What a foin blow he’ll ’ave when I lets ’im in on it. Me ma, too. She’s always pointin’ out ’at high Miz Shanna and sayin’ be like ’er. Well, I’s better’n ’er.” Milly reached out and caressed the arm of the man, missing the pinched frown he gave her.
“I gots me better’n any bondsman. I best tell ye now, gov’na, ye’ve got to pay the due. I ain’ takin’ no seaman what’s gone ’alf the time. I wants me a man ’round when I gets me heat up.”
The quirt began to slap softly against the top of the man’s boot, but Milly did not notice as she bestowed her best smile on him.
“O’ course, I ain’ one ter tie ye down, and if’n ye roams a bit I ain’ goin’ ter howl ’bout it. Not so long as ye comes back.”
The man slipped his arm around her and began to lead her down the street Milly reveled in this unusual affection and misread his smile completely. She leaned against him and slipped her hand inside his cloak.
“I know’s a quiet spot down by the beach,” she murmured, a suggestive look in her eyes. “ Tis a hidden place with soft moss ter pillow me backside.”
In the shadowed street the echo of her light laughter dwindled.
The next day broke clear and cool, with a sharp edge to it that could almost be felt. At the first hint of dawn Ruark and Shanna awoke, and with a parting kiss, he made his way quietly to his own chamber where he shaved and dressed to await the manor’s first stirring. He lounged on the bed, listening to Shanna move about her room then rejected the idea of returning. Hergus scolded her enough without adding more kindling to the woman’s fire. It was a nightly occurrence now that they shared a bed even if it was only to lie in the comfort of each other’s arms until sleep would descend upon them both.
Making his way to the small dining room, Ruark poured himself a cup of coffee. The pungent, nutty taste of the brew had captured him, and he welcomed the steaming warmth of it on this rare chilly morn.
Milan had set out a platter of meats and small oatcakes, and at the man’s invitation Ruark was just seating himself before a liberal plate when Trahern and Shanna entered the room together laughing. The father wondered at the change in his daughter. In the past few weeks she had grown rosy-cheeked and lighthearted and ever since her escapade with the pirates she appeared to have lost much of her starched formality. The frequency of her biting comments had faded until she almost seemed a different person, a warm and gracious woman whose charm now rivaled her beauty. Trahern chuckled to himself, accepting the good fortune without question. The smell of buttered griddle-cakes filled his nostrils, and he hurried to his chair, leaving the seating of his daughter to Mister Ruark, as it seemed the man’s wont, anyway.
A ring of hooves sounded out front, and in a moment Pitney blustered into the house, rubbing his hands and savoring the aroma of the food. He tossed his hat to Jason and joined the others, dragging a chair back from the table for a seat.
He met the amused stares of father and daughter and rumbled, “The floor of me house was much too cold this morn for a man of me age to be stumbling about.” He glared about as if daring anyone to question his honesty. “Besides, I finished a table for Mister Dunbar, and he had said he was coming here to see Mister Ruark ’bout that mule of his. Seems the man wants to buy it.”
Pitney accepted a plate from Milan and set about easing his appetite. The meal was taken by all with light banter as a side dish, and the mood was generally cheerful. But it was not to remain so for long. Milan had renewed Ruark’s coffee when a shout was heard, and a banging fist jarred the front door. Jason let in a bondsman from the village who came on bare feet directly back to the dining room. At Trahern’s side the man stood nervously turning his hat in his hands as he gave fleeting glances at Shanna as if her presence held back his flow of words. “Mister—uh—yer lordship—Squire Trahern—” The man’s tongue stumbled in haste.
“Well, Mister Hanks,” Trahern urged impatiently. “Out with it.”
The bondsman’s face reddened as he looked again at Shanna. “Well, sir, I was out in me boat early, gettin’ in a few good fishes for Miz Hawkins. She gives me a threepence or so for ’em. I drew the boat in to fix me lines and bait when I spies a bit o’ color up by the bush. The tide was out, so I beached the skiff to see about it.” He paused and blushed darkly, lowering his gaze. He crushed the hat between his huge, calloused, square-fingered hands. “H’it were Miz Milly, sir.” His voice was choked. “She were dead, beaten bad and tossed in a tide pool.”
In the frozen silence he rushed on.
“Miz Hawkins ’as to be told, sir, and I ain’t got the right words, it being her only young’un and all Would ye tell her, sir?”
“Milan!” Trahern bellowed, and the servant almost dropped a plate at the sound. “Send Maddock to bring my carriage around immediately.” He pushed back his chair and all at the table rose with him. “Come and show us where, Mister Hanks.”
Numbly Shanna crossed the room, her mind tumbling over itself with the shock of Mister Hanks’s announcement. Milly and babe, dead! What hellish being would do such a deed? This would be a terrible tragedy for Mrs. Hawkins to bear, and Shanna felt sick at heart as she wondered why so much trouble had to come to such a good woman.
In the back of Shanna’s mind it came to her that her secret was safe once again, but that meant nothing now. She’d have gladly told her father herself if it would have made any difference in this matter of Milly’s death. She had not really disliked the girl and certainly never wished any disaster to befall her. Her worrying seemed so trifling now.
Trailing behind Shanna, Ruark was just as stunned. The attempt on his life yesterday and now this murder of Milly—were they somehow related? It was a dark blemish on the happy, serene days he had enjoyed ever since Shanna had lowered all barriers between them.
“Shanna, girl!” Trahern’s voice halted them. “’Tis best you stay here.”
“Mister Hanks is right, papa,” Shanna returned quietly. “Madam Hawkins must be told. Tis fitting a woman be with her. I will go to her.”
Both father and husband stared at Shanna, warmly gratified with her wisdom and understanding. Trahern nodded, and the room was emptied in a rush.
Milly lay face down in a shallow depression in the sand. At high tide it would have been a pool, but now the sun had whitened the sand until it seemed the unfortunate girl was but napping on the beach. Her clothes were torn from her until only a few meager shreds remained. Thin weals marked her body and limbs as if she had been thrashed cruelly with a narrow rod or staff. Huge purplish bruises swelled on her arms and upper body where a heavy fist or cudgel had smashed repeatedly into her. An ugly welt marked the side of her face and extended well into the matted hair. One hand still clutched tufts of salt grass, bespeaking her struggle to hold on as the tide ebbed. Her other hand was stretched out and near it was a crude “R” dug into the sand. The short leg of it trailed off and curled under, ending where her fingers had buried themselves in a last desperate convulsive effort.
Ruark stared at her, his mind filled with the sight of another girl who had died in much the same manner. How could this happen so far away with an ocean between? How could it be?
Trahern bent near the girl and peered at the scrawled letter in the sand. “ Tis an ‘R,’ he murmured then straightened to consider his bondsman. “Or it could be a ‘P.’ But then, I can vouch for Pitney.” He pursed his lips thoughtfully. “It could stand for Ruark, but ’tis my inclination to disbelieve that I am certain I could vouch for you, also, should the occasion arise.”
Ruark’s throat was dry. The twisted body was all too familiar. He managed a hoarse, “Thank you, sir.”
“Or it could stand for Ralston, yet I can hardly envision him with a young girl like this. He much prefers heavier, plumper, older women. More solid and reliable. ‘Like England,’ he says.”
Ruark raised his eyes and scanned the low bluff above the beach. A clump of brush showed broken twigs and higher up a strip of white cloth hung like a banner from a branch.
“There!” He pointed. “She must have fallen from up there.” He walked down a ways to a break in the bluff and scrambled up, followed in close order by Trahern and Pitney. Mister Hanks remained below and strolled out toward his boat, wanting no further part of the gruesome affair.
The three found a small glade heavily shaded by trees and hidden by shrubs. Its floor was a thick bed of springy moss, and here was written the rest of the tale. The moss was uprooted in chunks and tossed about, giving a sign of a fierce struggle. Pieces of Milly’s clothing were scattered afar, and deep boot marks showed where she had been carried to the brink.
Pitney’s voice shook. “The filthy whoreson thought her dead and threw her into the sea. She would have gone out on the tide and disappeared without a trace. The poor lass. ’Twas an evil thing that was done here by an evil man.”
His gray eyes caught Ruark’s, and for a long moment the two gazes held unwaveringly. When Pitney spoke again, his tone was certain as he directed his statement to the younger man.
“I do not know of such a one who would do this.”
Trahern snorted. “Nor do I. ’Tis a beastly thing. Beastly.”
“Squire,” Ruark began reluctantly, and Trahern faced him with a quizzical stare. “I would have you hear it from me and now.” He had to squint almost into the sun to meet the man’s gaze, but meet it he did. “Milly claimed she was with babe and needed me to wed her.”
“And were you the father?” Trahern inquired slowly.
“Nay, I was not,” Ruark avowed. “I never laid a hand on the girl.”
After a moment the squire nodded. “I believe you, Mister Ruark.” He sighed heavily. “Let’s get the girl home. Elot will be along with a wagon any moment now.”
The barouche bore the men to the Hawkinses’ house where Pitney excused himself and made off for the dramshop. Arrangements had been made for Milly’s body to be tended to by a close friend of the fishmonger before the woman could see the abuse her daughter had suffered. Trahern and Ruark stood outside the humble dwelling and braced themselves for meeting the Hawkinses. The yard and exterior were a shambles. A pair of scrawny swine snorted in a corner beneath a haphazard shelter of boards while a dozen or so guinea hens scratched in the path.
With some apprehension the two entered the house. It was neat and clean, though painfully unadorned but for a single wood-carved crucifix hanging on the wall. Mister Hawkins lounged on a lopsided settee and did not even glance at them.
“The old lady’s out back,” he grunted and sucked long on a bottle of rum, still staring off into the distance.
In back of the house, a roof hung on crooked poles giving shade but little hindrance to rain. Beneath it Mrs. Hawkins stood at a high table, her back to them. With a huge knife she cleaned fish, spilling the offal into a wooden barrel. Shanna sat on a stool to one side and met their eyes with a small shrug, though signs of recent tears still lingered in her own.
“Good day, gentlemen,” Mrs. Hawkins spoke over her shoulder without pausing in her task. “Have a seat wherever. I has me work to do.” Her voice sounded tired.
Both Trahern and Ruark remained standing and stared at each other awkwardly, wondering what was to be said. The old woman worked on, though she wiped at her eyes with the back of her hand and sniffed loudly once in a while.
“She was an unlucky girl,” Mrs. Hawkins’s flat voice stated suddenly. She braced her hands on the table and stood with bowed head. She could barely be heard now. “I pray she’s at peace. She fretted overmuch about things she could not have and was never satisfied with what she got.”
The old fishwife turned to face them, her eyes streaming tears of sorrow.
“Milly weren’t a bad girl.” She smiled and found a clean spot on the apron to wipe her face. “Willful sometimes, aye, that she were. Men gave her trinkets and coins sometimes, and she came to think they would give her whate’er she wanted. She made up stories about some o’ them. Oh, I know, Mister Ruark, what she said about you and her, but I’m aware ye never touched ’er. She used to cry in ’er pillow cause ye wouldn’t pay no mind to ’er. When I’d wash yer clothes, she’d sit an’ moon over ye.”
“Mrs. Hawkins,” Ruark began gently, “were there any others who were—steady?”
“Many others,” the woman sniffed and blew her nose loudly. “But none that lasted. Oh—there was one lately, but I don’t know who. She never would say and only met him at night, far away from here.”
“Mister Ralston never—” Trahern could not put it to words.
“Nay, not him. He always said she was cheap trash. Even hit at her once with that little whip o’ his.” The woman laughed briefly. “Milly teased him. Called him old stick bones and sour face.”
The tears began to flow again, and the woman’s shoulder shook with suppressed sobs. Shanna rose quickly and went to comfort her. Mrs. Hawkins was half a head taller, but the two of them put their heads together and spoke softly.
When Mrs. Hawkins calmed, she bent and kissed Shanna on the cheek. “Go now, child,” she smiled. “Ye’ve done me good, but we would be alone now for a while.”
Orlan Trahern ventured, “If you have a need, madam, do not hesitate.” He paused then added. “Milly left a sign in the sand. An ‘R’ she traced. Do you know of any—”
Mrs. Hawkins shook her head. “I wouldn’t worry meself about Milly’s signs, sir. She never took ter writin’.”
A long, quiet moment passed before Ruark offered, “I’ll come by tomorrow to fix the roof.”
There was nothing left to be said, and the three departed. The ride back to the manor was overlong and very quiet.